


Your presence by my side

by queenelodie



Series: wedding gifts [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Family Issues, Unreliable Narrator, clair is gay gay gayy, hopefully obvious but:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenelodie/pseuds/queenelodie
Summary: “No, I would never have proposed to anyone else,” Celica says nonchalantly. When Clair jerks her head to gape at her, she is looking out over the flat plateau of Zofia’s countryside, her expression as distant as the sea, completely unaware of the fierce pounding of Clair’s heart.





	Your presence by my side

**Author's Note:**

> it took one week to write this and almost a year to make myself finish editing, if there are still typos they're for added flavor

**Dissemble**

Celica has ridden pegasi before. Or that’s what she had told Clair, anyway, on that one night not as long ago as it seems when Clair had asked if she’d maybe prefer a different means of transportation. But in the bright daylight Clair sees the grimace Celica quickly stifles at the sight of Lighting all saddled up.

“Really?” Clair says, disbelieving.

“What do you mean, really?” Celica asks, but she doesn’t meet Clair’s eyes.

“Don’t give me that,” Clair tells her. “I did not think you would lie about something like this.”

The glance Celica gives her out of the corner of her eye is just on this side of smug. “You seem so surprised. I _had_ thought I handled myself rather well on the way over here.”

All Clair remembers of their journey to Ram was the bizarre giddiness that had overwhelmed her mind every time Celica even almost touched her. “That isn’t the point!” Clair snaps. “If you had only told me, then we could travelled another way, but now we will fly all the way back. You are only causing problems for yourself.”

“I made it here in the first place, so please don’t concern yourself over me,” Celica says. “And I never lied. I remember saying ‘This will be fine’ and _you_ just assumed from there.”

There is nothing more unpleasant than to begin a journey with an argument, and Clair can’t be sure yet whether Celica is the type to be able to amiably bicker without having deeper feelings of resentment. She really hates being forced to pick the higher road, but she is relatively sure that Celica will not back down just for the sake of Clair’s nerves. Besides, it is more elegant to end an argument rather than begin one.

“Whatever you say,” Clair grouses inelegantly.

Celica keeps almost a full two meters away from Lightning, hands behind her back and eyes watchful, as if the pegasus is liable to lunge and snap off a couple fingers at any time. It is almost funny, because it really wouldn’t have been unusual for a princess to join the Pegasus Knight. In a world only slightly different, Celica would have a pegasus of her own. She might even have slept in a bunk next to Clair’s and eaten at her side.

That thought is enough to make her selfishly glad that Celica was forced into hiding instead. For the sake of her own dignity, Clair does not like to think about the horror of her teenage years. If Celica had known her then, she surely would have never proposed, and after a week of a constant bombardment of Celica’s… Celica-ness, Clair’s loyal heart cannot imagine being married to anyone else.

“Shall we be off?” Clair asks. She gestures to Lightning, with a flourish she hopes comes off as sarcastic. “I suppose you will be wanting - or rather, needing - me to help you mount.”

“Thank you for offering,” Celica says too politely to be genuine, and she moves next to Clair with the ease of someone who is used to doing what they would rather not.

For the past week, Celica had rarely left their room at Ram Village’s tiny inn, instead spending her time lounging about, barely clothed, shifting from sun patch to sun patch like an overly large cat. What this means is that Clair is more used to her being barefoot than anything else. It is still hard for her to believe that it is the fault of a small height difference, rather than any seductive intent, that had caused Celica to peer coyly through her eyelashes whenever they looked at each other.

Now Celica’s shoes have enough of a heel that, combined with Clair’s flat riding boots, their eyes are perfectly level. Yet Clair’s heart still jolts in the same way when their eyes meet and her skin prickles as if she’s too close to a fire as she braces her hands against Celica’s hip to help her into Lightning’s saddle. Celica leans into her hold, and then leaves it just as easily, as absorbed as ever in her own thoughts, the dangerous sort of woman that no one ever warned Clair about.

Clair means to swing herself up behind right away, but her limbs are slow to move. Celica tends to slouch when she isn’t paying attention, but she is tense and uncomfortable on Lightning and her back is straight and her shoulders squared. The morning sun shines fiercely and lights her hair up like flame. The sleepy haziness of the past week has disappeared, and Clair feels wrongfooted and uncomfortable. How did she get here? Why is she here? What is going to happen when they leave?

“Clair, is everything alright?” Celica asks, turning to look at her.

She smiles. “Of course! What could be wrong?” She climbs up behind and grabs Lightning’s reigns, and Celica settles back into the curve of her shoulders.

It isn’t much better with the both of them on Lightning, since Celica is now pressed warm and gracelessly against her front, but at least Clair can focus her mind on the job she knows how to do. She nudges Lightning forward, and he gradually begins to gain speed until he launches smoothly into the air. This is something they have done thousands of times together, many times with passengers, but for the first time Clair doubts that they will be able to stay in flight. The blood pumping through her body feels heavy as stone.

 

* * *

 

**Lady and Knight**

Not even two hours into their flight and Clair brings Lightning down to the ground for a break. Normally they would go for much longer, but Celica will be liable to get saddle sores if she doesn’t get the chance to walk around. Clair explains this, but Celica does not even deign to reply.

When she was much younger, Clair had a predilection for daydreaming that was a result of how little she paid attention to the tutors her parents paid good money for. Sometimes she thinks back nostalgically to those dreams where she lived as a noble wandering knight who spent their days rescuing princesses and receiving their affections as a reward, but she has never thought about them very deeply.

Now she sees that the matter of the rescued princesses is much more complex than it first seems. She had never paid much attention to the fact that the princesses had remained princesses even when she was the one saving them, which is a little funny to think about now. Furthermore, she had never considered that a princess was a whole, actual person, full of unknown thoughts and motivations, who could sit so close to Clair that air cannot move between them and yet still be so incomprehensible.

This is not something she could bring up out loud. Too much separates them for there to be any sort of set dynamic yet, but she can imagine how Celica would effortlessly understand every embarrassing thing that Clair does not say, and then she would respond with something like, “Of course this isn’t like that, I’m a queen not a princess,” just to mess with Clair’s head.

Perhaps Clair could retain enough control over the conversation to banter, “How true, I would’ve never dreamt of a princess who is scared of pegasi, after all.” She doesn’t have that much faith in herself though; she must accept that she is no fantasy knight to marry some beautiful lady and continue on with their life as if her mere presence didn’t tie their mind and tongue up in knots.

How vexing, too, that Clair cannot even declare herself the hero in this tale. It is her pegasus they are riding, her plan of travel they are following, but she does not have any real control over the situation. She was not the one to propose; neither did she say off-hand last night, “We might as well head back tomorrow.”

Clair is good with things she can touch with her own two hands; emotional quandaries make her anxious. Sometimes the damsel in distress calls for help, but Clair does not know the reason for the desperation in Celica’s moonlit proposal. Is there an evil witch for her to fight? Where is the dragon for her to slay? In Clair’s situation, her princess will not even admit there is a dragon, and Clair wonders if she could have misunderstood the call for help after all.

A storyteller will jump from plot point to plot point, long journeys glossed over with a single sentence. Nowhere do they mention that the times in between are filled with awkward silences. Many times the knight and princess would not have known each other before, so what did they have to talk about? All the trees look the same after a while and the clouds are thin and wispy. Clair has tried to start many conversations, but Celica is barely more verbose than Lightning himself.

She slides gracelessly off Lightning before Clair brings him to a full stop, stumbling over to lean against a tree. Clair watches her from atop Lightning, irritated and unwilling to give up her position of control, and is startled when she notices how strangely she breathes, as though she is heaving.

“Celica? Are you—? Oh!” Clair calls, her concern rapidly fading into amusement. “Were you flightsick? Do you get flightsick?”

Celica does not answer, but the way her posture straightens is all the answer Clair needs. Laughing incredulously, she directs Lightning to prance towards Celica. “The queen of Zofia gets flightsick just like a baby cadet, how cute. It happens to most beginners, you know, though _I_ never once suffered the effects. Our commander used to say that I was born for the saddle.”

When she has guided children through their first flight, she was much more sympathetic. Clair has never been good at letting go of her emotions, though, and all of the irritation and hurt she had amassed from being constantly rebuffed needs some outlet. She wants to tease Celica more, lash out until she loses that unshakeable control and blushes red, eyes flashing in consternation. And then possibly she would want to coo honey-sweet words until Celica is coaxed into her arms, stroke her fingertips across the hot flush of her sharp cheekbones, kiss her jaw until the anger melts away…

Clair brings Lightning to a halt, feeling abruptly dizzy. “How did this not happen on the journey to Ram? Is it the fact that you could not see in the dark? You mustn’t look at the ground, you know, that’s the main cause of the nausea.”

Celica glares up at her. She cannot be beautiful at this moment, being sweaty, pale, and irked, yet Clair could not describe her as anything but. “Tell me, are you actually incapable of being silent?”

“ _Please_ , if I was as silent as you, then no words would be spoken between us and we would lose the capacity for language.”

“You say that as if it would be a bad thing,” Celica says, loud enough that Clair was meant to hear it. Clair scoffs and turns away.

The sun is bright and strong here, but not as intense as it was in Ram Village. She can feel it against her skin and clothes, weakened when the occasional breeze blows by. There’s movement out of the corner of her eye as Celica walks on unsteady legs towards her.

“Would you consider this ‘saving you’?” Clair cannot help but ask. “You were in trouble, and so I brought you down to the ground where you are now fine. That must count as a rescue, no? I have rescued you like a knight might rescue a princess?”

“A real knight would be chivalrous. You have had your fun at my expense, so give it a rest.” Celica’s voice is defensive, as though Clair has the upperhand in whatever battle is playing out between them. Clair knows what the wrong thing is to say, but tact is unappealing right now. To fight their way past the fangs and claws of a dragon’s anger to find their lady love inside, a knight must possess a certain amount of bravery.

“It just pleases me to find a weakness in someone so stoic and infallible,” Clair says.

“Is that so?” Celica mutters. “I wasn’t aware you had such a terrible personality.”

“Me? I could say just the same about you! You should have been more careful about who you proposed to.”

“No, I would never have proposed to anyone else,” Celica says nonchalantly. When Clair jerks her head to gape at her, she is looking out over the flat plateau of Zofia’s countryside, her expression as distant as the sea, completely unaware of the fierce pounding of Clair’s heart.

 

* * *

 

**Nostalgia**

Clair tends towards extravagance. It’s not that she has an insatiable appetite for luxury, but she enjoys pomp and circumstance even when it gets tedious. She likes to be dramatic, and she likes it even more when others respond to her in the same way.

She does not think it was extravagant, though, to have expected her first dinner at her family estate as a married woman to be much more than this: Celica and her seated at a small table tucked away into the corner of the kitchen, eating a plain meal of bean stew and cornbread. Her family’s cooks are nothing but extremely talented, but there is only so much good food can do in a situation like this.

The comfort of complaining so much that reality seems actually quite nice in comparison is not available to her. Celica watches her from across the small table with soft, dark eyes. More servants than there should be around at this hour bustle around them, silent and staring at Celica. This is not an environment that Clair would be comfortable crying in, if she were to cry, but she cries - in front of other people, at least - even less than she argues with her brother.

“You don’t need to worry,” Celica tells her. “The food is delicious and the company is lovely, which is all that matters.”

Clair is Celica’s company, but if Celica were talking from Clair’s point of view then the person being called lovely would be herself. Or perhaps she’d complemented the both of them? Clair feels both shriveled up and close to bursting, and her mind is full of ugly thoughts, but Celica almost radiates warmth and serenity. It is hard to match her now to the way she had stood by Clair’s side while Clair argued with her brother, stiff and expressionless like an oil portrait of a queen given dimension.

Like that, she had fit right in with the rest of the Belleros castle. Clair had grown up under the watchful eye of nearly a hundred dead ancestors, all of them stern-faced and disapproving. Clair’s living family looked at her much the same way. Not one of her few memories of her parents have them smiling at her, and her and Clive cannot be in the same room for very long before all they can do is argue.

“Clive is not always like this,” Clair says determinedly. “He is usually very thoughtful. He just wants what is good for me.”

The false idyll between them grows obviously tense. Clair drains the rest of her port wine and signals for a servant to give her another glass.

“When he acts like this, it is only because he is worried for me. Despite the number of responsibilities on his shoulders, he keeps my best interests close to his heart.”

Celica doesn’t say anything.

“It’s true!” Clair snaps at her. “Do you think that I am a liar?”

“Of course not,” Celica says.

“Then why do you look like that?” Clair says. “You have no right to cast judgement on what you do not understand. Clive has been my sole caretaker since I was little, and he has always done more than he needs to when looking after me.”

If Clair’s childhood was a painting, it would not be like the uncompromising portraits lining the castle halls. It would be a cloudless blue sky stretched above her, a herd of pegasi before her, her brother’s steady presence beside her. There would be the golden glow that all of Clair’s memories have. She has always been determined to enjoy herself and ignore everything bad.

She knows that if she thought about it critically she would not remember her childhood very fondly at all, which is why she has never about it critically. It’s even worse with Celica so close and still watching her as if she knows all the thoughts that Clair wouldn’t ever want to leave the secrecy of her head. Everything - from the moment they first touched down in the castle’s front courtyard, Celica half delirious with flightsickness and Clair sore from holding her upright, until now - feels like a gross invasion of privacy. But it’s not like Celica could do much else but stick so closely to her side.

Clair does not like it when other people see Clive’s flaws, which is why it is so irritating when he insists on making them so obvious. She would not like anyone to see any of her family’s flaws, to think that they could criticize that person without knowing and loving them as Clair does. Clive would laugh if he knew how protective she was of him, considering that he thinks she is made mostly of flaws herself.

The table is so small that Clair keeps knocking her knees against Celica’s. Celica is always so beautiful, but normally in an untouchable, unconquerable way. Something about the way the walls of the Belleros castle frame her makes her seem smaller and more vulnerable. Whether Clair wanted this responsibility or not, she now has the ability to harm another person in a way she has never had before. And in the protection of this person, Clair can no longer be the little girl who tricked herself into believing that her family’s disapproval was actually love.

“Did you know that Clive was the one to convince our parents to let me join the Pegasus Knights once I was old enough?” Clair says. “Mother just wanted me to get married. I was so happy at first. I thought it was because he supported my dreams, but then I heard him speaking with Sir Fernand. He actually thought that I would become bored and quit as soon as I realized how hard I would have to work, and then I would be content to be married off. He never had faith in me.”

Celica’s forehead wrinkles in sympathy. Something else Clair has noticed that she thinks, possibly, that no one else has: that Celica never quite meets anyone else’s gaze. Right now Clair is quite sure that she is staring at her forehead instead.

No matter the situation, no matter Celica’s forthcomingness, no matter how Clair bares herself, Celica will never take down all the barriers between them.

She wants to bring Celica around the table and to her side, wants to press her face into the graceful curve of Celica’s neck and tell her all of the things that she had never let herself complain about before. It would be possible with no space between them, but from across the table Clair is baring herself with no promise of protection. She is too afraid of intruding into Celica’s personal space. It is unfair to ask so much of her without reciprocating.

If she thinks about it, Clair does not have anyone that she can trust. Not her brother, nor the stranger across from her.

Her stomach aches as if she’s eaten bad food, and she suddenly feels uncomfortably exposed. She wishes that she could take back everything she’s just said. She wants to have spent this whole meal in silence. She wants Celica to stop looking at her. “Well,” she snaps, not fully registering what she’s saying. “You should know better than anyone that siblings do not always have one’s best interests in mind.”

Celica flinches back and looks away, but it does not make Clair feel any better.

 

* * *

 

**Solidify**

Clive has been complaining about Clair’s rebelliousness since she could understand him, and he probably started even before then. Perhaps their mother handed him a baby to hold, and that baby found herself hungry or scared and began to cry, which Clive found very inconvenient. That is the way of things in a family like theirs; you are assigned some characteristic regardless of its veracity, and then you are stuck with that characteristic for the rest of your life because no one is interested in actually understanding your personality.

What is funny is that Clair has never really been rebellious before in her life. She is perfectly willing to argue and complain, but she has never disobeyed direct orders, she does not look to cause trouble, and she does her best to support her brother. Her brother has some idyllic idea of a what a sister should be in his mind - an idea that he has never shared with her, so how could she even try to match it if she ever desired to? - and he calls her rebellious whenever Clair does not perfectly align with this image. Sometimes he seems to be frustrated by the fact she has a personality.

“So, you really are going,” Clive says.

“Are you actually surprised?” Clair says. “I did tell you that I was.”

“I don’t know _what_ to think,” Clive says. “I thought I understood you, but you have shown me that I do not.”

“If after more than two dozen years of our acquaintance you still do not understand me, then I think that is more your fault than mine.”

Clair is terrible at being angry, but not because she is quick to forgive. She is able and willing to hold a grudge past the day she dies, but she tends to apologize when she doesn’t mean it just because arguments make her self-conscious. It is shallow, the fact that she cannot bear anyone to dislike her, but she cannot help her character.

She has entered a new period of her life, though, and it is a time to leave bad habits behind. She refuses to be the one to back down, she is no longer the little girl who would do anything if it would only make her brother praise her.

“There is no need for you to make me the enemy,” Clive says. “My goal isn’t to make you unhappy.”

“I know,” Clair says. “You never concern yourself with either my happiness or my unhappiness, only your own. My feelings rarely enter enter into the matter. In fact, I am surprised that you recognize that I have feelings at all, considering how little you acknowledge them.”

“Clair!” Clive gapes at her. “That is untrue and you know it.”

“Do I?” Clair asks sceptically. “If you have found yourself hurt by my actions, then it is only because I was following your example.”

“Follow my example? _I_ would never run away and elope with a woman who is dangerous and altogether unsuitable.”

“Unsuitable!” She can’t help but laugh. “Queen Zofia was not so unsuitable when _you_ were the one marrying her.”

Clair travels through the different social circles of Zofian nobility, but despite the renown of her family her brother never allows her to visit Zofia Castle. He would rather keep his reckless, flighty sister away from the place where she could embarrass him the most. Clive had brought her with him during his latest visit, but everyone knew why he’d done that and it was not because either of them had undergone some change in character.

Lord Clive Belleros and Queen Anthiese Zofia would have been a good match, theoretically. Him, being a nobleman from an old, respected family, only a decade older than the queen; her, being a four-and-twenty years old woman without an heir. Marriages have been founded on less, and Clair had no mind to intervene. But with her proposal Celica had given Clair something, and although Clair is a good person that does not preclude her from the occasional selfishness. She might not yet understand what it is that Celica gave her, but now is past the point where she would let anyone take it away from her.

“What are you trying to imply?” Clive asks stiffly, as if Clair was being at all subtle. “I am only concerned for your safety. First, her father just about drags the country into poverty with his greed, then her siblings nearly cause a civil war. She clearly lacks good judgement if she agreed to your hairbrained scheme. Whatever you wanted to take revenge against me for, you have only done something to harm yourself.”

“Take revenge against you? I didn’t marry Anthiese to _spite_ you, I married her because I wanted to. Not everything I do is about you.”

“For power then. You must not let your vanity control your actions. There is much more responisibility in being the queen’s consort than you may think, you will not just have a life of leisure and luxury.”

Clair opens her mouth, and closes it again when nothing but air comes out. She had once thought herself so clever at knowing what words to say to people to get whatever response she wanted, but now she cannot think of how to argue. How could she describe the lightning that sparked through her veins when she met Queen Zofia’s eyes for the first time, the thunderous beat of her heart through her body when she pledged herself to Anthiese in the humid heat of Ram Village, the overpowering pull of longing that Celica induces in her?

Even if she could put those moments into words, Clive would hear them and not listen. He does not want to listen. He would not care.

“Is this what you think of me?” she does not ask, since she already knows the answer. “I wish I could go back to when I was younger,” she says. “I was so carefree back then. I know I must have caused other people problems, but life was really marvelous for me. But I don’t know if happiness is worth ignorance.”

“What are you on about now?” Clive says. “Clair, you have crossed a line. I am used to you always doing what you want without a care for anyone else, but you are a full grown woman, not a child. I realize I am an fault for being so lenient with you previously, but I do not have the patience to humor this immature rebellion. But you are my sister, and if you admit your wrongdoing, we can forget this ever happened.”

Wrongdoing! Both of them lost their parents when they were so young, and they have no other close relatives. If Clair was dutiful, she would stay at her brother’s side. Clair could maybe understand his position if she tried, but she does not and she will not.

Only a year into her reign as queen and Queen Anthiese Zofia is best known for her mercy. Growing up, Clair had been told she was selfish so many times it became a permanent part of her character. Perhaps they were meant to be.

She looks at Clive, standing right next to her, so far away he may as well be standing at the other end of the country. “Before I leave,” she tells him with a flippancy she doesn’t quite feel, “let me clear up a misconception you seem to have. _I_ was not the one to propose to Anthiese. No, indeed, it was quite the opposite.

“Hmm. Well, we will be leaving soon. Goodbye!”


End file.
